"Mating a human is a challenge, but it can be done."
"I'm not going to mate her when I could turn savage and kill her on any given full moon."
"Well-"
"Thanks for your help," I cut in. "I'll figure it out on my own."
Like I always have. I end the call. It rings back just as I crush the burner phone under my heel so it can't be traced back to me.
Damn it all to hell.
I'm going to have to get Annabel somewhere safe and very far from me by tomorrow night. I can't risk her being anywhere close to me if the monster takes over.
When I go back to the motel room, Annabel wears a vulnerable-suspicious expression.
"Who did you meet?"
I arch a brow. I'm tempted to dodge the question, but again, the urge to stick closer to the truth with her wins out.
"I had to make a phone call. Not about this mission. About my last one. The personal one. Just trying to wrap things up."
Her expression softens, eyes warm. "The one about your dad?"
My gut twists. "Yeah."
He was a monster, like me.
I want to tell her everything, but she's had enough shock for one day. I don't know how she could absorb this, too. Tomorrow I'll tell her if I have to. To keep her safe.
"I've been doing some more hacking," she says. "On a hunch, I pulled the bank records for Director Scape from 1992. Guess what I found?"
My clever, clever handler. "What?"
"A very large deposit into Scape's account from a company called American Trade Assets. And several more going back to 1990."
"What is American Trade Assets?"
"That's the interesting part. They're a political action organization primarily interested in promoting American trade interests. Particularly in North and South America."
"So, you think they might have funded a peace destabilization project?"
"That's exactly what I think. Scape was my dad's direct superior. He could've taken the money and sent my dad on the mission."
I hate to ask the next question. "Did you check your dad's bank account?"
She sits up taller. "Yep."
"And?"
"Nothing unusual. Just his regular checks from the Marines."
"He may not have ordered your dad to complete the mission. He might have gone to do it himself, and your dad got in the way," I suggest.
"Yes, that's a possibility, too. Maybe I can find out more from Senator Flack."
I don't like it, but she's probably right. He's a decent lead. "Yes. Call him tomorrow and set up a meet."
I reach out to touch her hair, then pull my hand back. Even with our wild sex earlier, I'm dying to claim her again.
Down boy.
"I'm going to take a shower," I mutter.
A very, very cold shower.
Annabel
"IS THIS A BAD IDEA?" I ask Charlie for the fifth time since I called Senator Flack on a new burner phone to set up the lunch date.
"I'll have eyes and ears on you at all times. Nothing's going to happen." Charlie straightens the collar of my blouse where the tiny receiver is clipped. The other piece is in my ear, but it's so small, no one would notice even if my hair wasn't covering it.
Oh Lordy, I am never going to pull this off. I am not field agent material that's for sure.
"I could be wanted by the CIA by now. We both could. What if he knows that, and someone's there to arrest me?"
"You already checked the database. Absolutely nothing has been filed about either one of us. Which further confirms there's something fishy to this case."
"How do you mean?"
"I mean, if this were a simple case of you disobeying orders and refusing to call in, it would be right there in your file. It would be mentioned in my file. There would be measures taken-aboveboard measures. There's nothing of the kind. Which means whoever's messing with you isn't aboveboard. Whether it's Tentrite or Director Scape or both, I can't be sure. But maybe this lunch will give you more info."
"Should I tell him what's happening?"
Charlie considers me for a long moment. "I wouldn't, but I don't trust anyone."
I swallow. "You trust me." I don't know why I'm fishing for his reassurance-I don't need to act like a clingy girlfriend, especially at a moment like this. Or maybe it's because of this moment. I'm scared. My life is in danger. And Charlie's the only guy in my court.
He palms my hip. "Yeah. I trust you." It seems hard for him to say which makes me think he actually means it.
We take the metro to Union Station. Charlie's doing the "smartly dressed businessman" thing with a suit and tie. He's wearing a pink button down and a tie with shades of gray, purple and red which makes me want to break into applause. Clearly, he's more than man enough to carry off the feminine colors.
He does the Bluetooth earpiece talk the entire time, babbling on about orders and shipments. All the while, he's looking around like he sees nothing, like he's only absorbed in his imaginary conversation, but I know he's taking in everything and everyone.
When we exit at Union Station, the place is packed.
Something's going on.
"Oh God," I murmur so Charlie can hear. "It's a freaking flash mob." People of all ages are joining in, singing and dancing to Grease Lightning.
"Perfect," Charlie answers. "Crowd distraction always works in our favor. Just act like you're watching as you slip into the crowd. I'll have eyes on you. Never look back for me."
"Okay." I follow his instructions, smiling at the performers, standing on tiptoe as if I want to see more, all the while weaving through the crowd and out the other side.